


Standing in the Other's Clothes

by golden_redhead



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I'm so laaaaaaaaate, M/M, Oumota Week 2018, Post-Game, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shirogane doesn't really appear in the text but she is important so I tagged her, Shuichi and Maki are mentioned, Spoilers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Virtual Reality, but it works with Pre-Game too, spoilers to the whole game, technically it was for the Clothes Swap prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 09:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14691234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_redhead/pseuds/golden_redhead
Summary: The moment Ouma's eyes fell on the clothes folded neatly in the open cardboard box with the Danganronpa logo on it he could feel laughter rising from his throat, hysterical and ugly and nothing like his trademark ‘Nishishi’ from the simulation.Because right before his eyes was the outfit of the Ultimate Astronaut.





	Standing in the Other's Clothes

Ouma stares at his reflection in the mirror with a deep frown adorning his face.

 

He tugs at the collar of his white shirt, grimacing with distaste as he knows that he’ll have to survive the whole day wearing this ridiculous outfit. If it were up to him he would be anywhere but here, but with the way things are right now he is basically Team Danganronpa’s little puppet who has do whatever they expect from him, at least for a few more weeks. He was scheduled with countless photoshoots, interviews and group therapy sessions from day to night, 24/7. Every day is filled with a new set of tortures, as if experiencing the killing game weren’t enough. For hours people are tugging at his hair, covering his face with unbelievable amounts of powder (despite his already sickly pale complexion) and complaining loudly that he lost weight again. So far today he had to surrender himself to a horde of make-up artists and their constant chattering about things he can’t even bother to understand. Once they deemed him presentable he was taken to a small room and presented with the outfit he was to wear for today’s photoshoot. The moment his eyes fell on the clothes folded neatly in the open cardboard box with the Danganronpa logo on it he could feel laughter rising from his throat, hysterical and ugly and nothing like his trademark ‘Nishishi’ from the simulation.

 

Because right before his eyes was the outfit of the Ultimate Astronaut.

 

White T-shirt with kumadori design. Long sleeved dress shirt with a breast pocket. Long purple pants. Absolutely ridiculous pair of galaxy slippers. Heck, they even included that space idiot’s canon underwear, black boxers with red stars. And of course… the coat. The sight of it makes Ouma’s heart ache and he has to close his eyes for a few painfully long seconds. Just like what they taught him to do in therapy, _inhale-exhale, inhale-exhale, repeat,_ **_repeat_** _,_ **_repeat, REPEAT!_ **

 

The pulsing in his head slowly dulled with each deep breath as he did his best to stop the panic attack from getting out of hand. With a final breath, he forced himself to look at his situation with a more logical mindset. Just like he always did in the simulation.

 

Today was supposed to be a photoshoot in pairs, so at least now he knows that he’s going to be working with Momota today, which is actually quite a common occurrence. Fans of Danganronpa are especially obsessed with the idea of killers and victims interacting, obsessively watching every gesture they make in each other’s company, analyzing every word they exchange, hoping for a crack in the facade just so they can gush about it for hours on their blogs and forums. Team Danganronpa is perfectly aware of this trend and they exploit it as much as it’s humanly possible, scheduling shared interviews and photoshoots, just like the one that they’ll be having today.

 

The truth is that Ouma and Momota were the never ending obsession among the fans of this season, much to Ouma’s irritation. Despite everything, though, he can see the appeal. The unlikely couple that teamed up in order to beat the mastermind and end the game! The fifth trial of previous seasons were always the most emotional and controversial, but what they did really managed to turn the tables. Some even say that their plan secured Danganronpa’s success for future seasons when the interest in the show started to fade. Despite its huge fanbase the show managed to create throughout the years, the formula of the Danganronpa storyline became overly repetitive for many and caused significant drops in ratings due to its predictable outcomes. Team Danganronpa had to come to terms with the fact that they might not have that many seasons left. Now, however the success of the fifty-third season brought back many of the deserting fans and earned them a huge audience even among people who usually didn’t fit their target audience. The writers of this season received both love and hate, but one thing remains obvious. This has been one of the most interesting seasons this series ever had! The sole survivor of the previous season coming back only to be the first one to die. The protagonist executed in the very first trial. An actual murderer infamous for the incest romance with his sister. An impostor-mastermind motivating other participants to join forces through his web of lies. An unforgettable fifth trial with the killer and the victim working together, despite their many differences. There hasn’t been this much buzz about the series in years. Everyone talks about Danganronpa again and according to some news articles Tsumugi Shirogane signed the contract ensuring that she’ll be one of the writers working on the next few seasons. All the fans are thrilled to see what she’ll come up with this time and if it’ll be able to live up to the success of the fifty-third season.

 

For a long moment he just stared at the clothes, wondering what was the intention behind dressing him up like this. Probably something boring and stupid and disgustingly alluring to the obsessed freaks with dreams of killing and being killed.

 

He purposely ignores the fact that apparently he was one of these people, long time ago when everything was different. In a life he doesn’t even remember living.

 

However, no matter the intention he most definitely knows _whose_ idea it was. Only the Ultimate Cosplayer would come up with something like this. He feels sick thinking about how pleased she must be with the idea of her little characters cosplaying as one another.

 

With more force than necessary he takes off his jacket and hurls it onto the floor. It is soon joined by the white sweater and matching pants he’s been wearing today, both thrown haphazardly on the ground. Reluctantly he reaches for his underwear and takes it off in a fast smooth movement. Now fully nude, Ouma goes to put on the clothes from the box. Upon closer inspection he notices that even though it’s close to the original, this isn’t an exact replica of the Ultimate Astronaut’s costume. Some elements have been modified to better match Ouma’s style and he’s internally grateful for this little fact. Both the pants and external part of the coat are a darker shade of purple than Momota’s original outfit. The shirt’s buttons are multicolored, much like the ones from Ouma’s own Supreme Leader costume. The pants are actually quite similar to the ones that Ouma used to wear back in the game, thanks to the fake belts sewed to thicker part of the thighs. Also, they aren’t as wide as Momota’s. The slippers, while still horrible, have a checkered pattern on the inside, which Ouma considers to be a nice touch. However it didn’t make the outfit any less ridiculous to him. Ouma hesitates a little when putting on the underwear, briefly wondering why they even bothered with equipping him with this particular item. It’s not like anyone will see it anyway. Ultimately, he comes to the conclusion that trying to understand Team Danganronpa’s actions is futile and reaches for the rest of the outfit not wanting to prolong the process of dressing up. He puts on the clothes quickly, finishes buttoning the shirt and with a quick glance in the mirror he decides that he’s ready.

 

He doesn’t put the coat on.

 

Instead he holds it delicately in his hands, runs his fingers through the smooth length of the fabric, feeling its familiar structure. The galaxy patterns are as beautiful as ever and Ouma traces them with his eyes, observing the stars and forming the constellations in his mind. He wonders how accurate they are, if they based it on actual, existing stars or if it’s just a nice pattern that had nothing to do with reality. In theory, he knows that he could just ask Momota about it. Even if the dreams of reaching the stars were implanted in his brain it doesn’t mean the knowledge vanished once Momota left the virtual reality. Even if they weren’t born Ultimates, the moment when they entered the game they became ones. Both the talents and personalities that they were given once they agreed to enter the simulation are part of who they are now. The moment they signed the contract they basically gave up on their previous lives. Despite some occasional flashbacks Ouma has no idea who he was before all of this. None of them know. The person he was for the first sixteen years of his life was erased forever, gone as if he never existed. He can’t even tell if Ouma Kokichi is his real name or just another fabricated lie. It honestly wasn’t that different from the ones he used to feed his ‘classmates’ in the game. He sighs quietly, lifts the coat up and then buries his face in its soft material. It doesn’t smell like Momota, he knew it wouldn’t, but he abandoned his oath of never lying to himself long time ago. For a few minutes he can pretend. He can pretend that he’s burying his face in the Ultimate Astronaut’s broad chest, feeling that space idiot’s heartbeat pulsing under his cheek. This lie feels stupid and childish and not Supreme Leader-y at all, but for once he doesn’t mind. It’s a pleasant one. And no matter how much he tries, no matter how skillful of a liar he is - pleasant lies are so rare that he can’t resist this personal indulgence. It was only temporarily after all.

 

And so here it is. He is now dressed like that space idiot who never knows when to give up. Of course the most essential part was still held in his arms. He looks down at the coat in his hands, caressing the material softly. He died with this thing draped around his shoulders, the only thing separating him from the cold and heavy surface of the machine that took his life. If only he knew that he would wake up again… If only he knew that he would have to face the reality not that different from that of a killing game.

 

He looks up again, his reflection staring back at him.

 

He can barely recognize himself under the thick layer of make-up. He must admit, the make-up artists taking care of him are true professionals. The shadows under his eyes are covered perfectly. His skin looks like that of an actual person, not like that of some battered and tired boy who made too many mistakes in his life to count. There’s a slight tint of blush on his cheekbones, making him look far more refreshed than he feels and more youthful than he already is. A bitter laugh swells in his throat as he realizes that they probably wanted to present him as some innocent little angel. He knows how many people are gushing about how pretty he is, how childish he looks. Team Danganronpa loves exposing that side of him as it bring a lot of attention from the female fans, especially young ones. He had a chance to read what they write about him, he’s seen videos of them crying about how much they love him, while kissing the pillow with his face on it. One fan even tried to break into the hospital he was recovering in immediately after being taken out from his pod. She’s been carried away kicking and screaming, demanding that she can see him to confess her love. He doesn’t know how to name the feeling of what incidents like that make him feel. He doesn’t know how to live in the reality in which things like that keep happening to him on a daily basis. He’s glad that he doesn’t have to face the fans just yet, but also dread as he knows that it’s inevitable. As soon as his therapist deems him stable enough (both physically and mentally) he will be forced to endure numerous meetings with the fans of Danganronpa, conventions, more interviews and hell knows what else.

 

Then with a knock at the door of the changing room Ouma realizes that his alone time has come to an end.

 

He opens the door and is immediately pulled out and made to follow a bunch of stylists. They have their way with him, making sure that everything fits him perfectly, straightening the material where it got wrinkled in his rather careless act of dressing up. Thankfully, the stylists’ work doesn’t take that much time and they complete the task fairly quickly. Ouma mostly complies throughout the whole process as he’s not in the mood for wasting time (he just wants this thing to be over with), but pushes them away when they try to put Momota’s coat on his shoulders. With a rude remark he declares that he’s a big boy who knows how to dress himself and squeezes through the surrounding crowd, coat in hand.

 

Ouma enters the photographic studio, cheerfully fake smile plastered on his face, arms behind his back. It’s all an act, a carefully crafted lie just so he can get some feeling of control back, just so he can at least pretend to know what he’s doing with his life, even though he lost those rights when he signed that goddamn contract. Right now this mockery of a smile and false carefreeness are all he has against this cruel world, but he swore long ago that he won’t go down without a fight. So he lies and lies and lies, because what else can a liar do.

 

Momota is already in the studio, sitting on one of the benches set against the wall. Ouma curses internally. He hoped that he would get some more time alone to collect his thoughts and prepare himself mentally before facing Momota. Well, luck was never on his side. Especially not where Danganronpa is concerned. He briefly wonders why it’s only him and Momota in the studio, but a quick glance at the clock helps him to solve this mystery. It’s a few minutes after noon and that means that it’s a lunch break. No one ever works during a lunch break.

 

Momota’s hair looks like it usually does, which means that it’s a complete mess. The difference, however, is that apparently the stylists tried to make his hair look more like Ouma’s and gave up in the middle of the process. Ouma shudders slightly, internally grateful that they didn’t dare to touch his hair. He would rather die than let them try to stylize it like that bird nest that Momota calls his hair. Instinctively, his hand reaches to his hair, pulling at the curly strands, twirling them around his fingers. He would never admit it out loud, but he’s already starting to feel dizzy, knees threatening to give out under his weight. It’s only going to get worse under the too bright light of photographic lamps making the room way too warm, which enhances the suffocating feeling rising within him. His body is still weak after weeks of being stuck in that fucking pod, muscles weakened by disuse and the ever real memory of his horrid and painful death under the cold and unforgiving pressure of the hydraulic press. He remembers all of it with paralyzing clarity… The poison burning in his veins. The slow descent of the press. His last thoughts, regrets, prayers, all the lies he never told and all the truths he never had the courage to share. When he closes his eyes he can still feel the pressure on his chest and hear the snap of his bones as they are being crushed. He can taste the blood in his mouth and feel it dripping down his chin. He remembers how all of it felt too long, how he wished for it to be over. The mere thought of it makes him want to vomit, desperately retch until he frees his stomach of this sickening feeling of dread, until he can breath again. Out of all the participants of the last season of Danganronpa he’s the weakest. While most of them finished their physical therapy relatively fast he still has to attend endless sessions with a therapist, his body slowly remembering how it feels to have control over these frail limbs. For weeks he was stuck on a wheelchair, forced to rely on the nurses to even get on the wretched thing, another incontestable proof of his weakness. He’s always been small and bony, not used to physical activities and with ridiculously sensitive pale skin, as if he’s never spend a single day on the sun. All of that makes his recovery long and hard, much to his frustration. Ouma feels useless like that, as if he wasn’t stripped of enough control in his life already.

 

There’s no point in dwelling on it now and yet....

 

Ouma shakes his head a bit, as if hoping that it would shake off these treacherous thoughts. _Focus_ , he murmurs to himself soundlessly. He turns his attention to Momota again, angry at himself that he got distracted again.

 

He chooses to focus on reality by concentrating on what the other boy is wearing.

 

No matter how much Ouma would love to say that the astronaut looks ridiculous in the Supreme Leader’s outfit it’s actually… far from the truth. Just as his own outfit the one that Momota is wearing had a few adjustments, making the clothes better suited for someone of his posture, but at the same time still maintaining the unmistakable Supreme Leader vibe to it. Of course, it won’t stop him from teasing the hell out of Momota and laughing at him, but he feels somewhat disappointed that it’ll be all an act rather than actual well-deserved mocking. He came here hoping for a good laugh and instead of that he got this weird fluttering feeling in his chest that seems to intensify the more he looks at the other Ultimate. It’s disgusting, really.

 

He takes his time to analyze Momota’s outfit. It mostly resembles what Ouma was wearing in the game. His white shirt is ripped at the hem and the collar part of it is completely gone. Big parts of the uniform are fixed with metal clips. The multicolored buttons are replaced with galaxy ones. The pants look exactly like the ones Ouma had in the game. The shoes are quite similar, too. There’s a new element, though and Ouma frown slightly when his eyes land on it. There’s a dark flowing cloak draped around Momota’s shoulders that Ouma recognizes as something he’s seen at the promotional photos of this season. He doesn’t remember ever wearing it, but apparently he did shortly before he entered the simulation when Team Danganronpa was still designing their characters. He’s been informed that they all had several photoshoots in different outfits before the game started when the writers and designers were still discussing the final details of their outfits.

 

Then he notices that one of the elements is missing. Instead of having it wrapped around his neck Momota clutches the Supreme Leader checkered scarf in his hand, knuckles white from how tight he’s holding it. Ouma feels his own grip on the coat he’s holding tighten, only to loosen mere seconds later. _Don’t think of DICE, don’t think of DICE, people who never existed in the first place don’t need to be remembered,_ echoes in his mind. He lets the Ultimate Astronaut coat fall on the ground and kicks it for good measure as he stomps in the direction of the other boy. He doesn’t spare even a single glance at the dropped item of clothing.

 

Momota observes him in that unsettling way of his that always makes Ouma uncomfortable. His eyes roam over Ouma’s frail figure, scanning his face carefully, as if he’s looking for some clue that would help him figure out this mystery that is Ouma Kokichi. He’s never been so perceptive before and Ouma is sure as hell that he doesn’t appreciate this sudden change. It is truly telling, considering how he’s never been Kaito’s biggest fan. This new Momota, however, makes him feel things he doesn’t want to acknowledge. His stare reminds Ouma of the way Shuichi used to look at him in the game, at least before the whole Gonta fiasco… Now Shuichi doesn’t look at him at all. He still hasn’t decided whether he’s grateful for this development or not. Saihara’s stare could be painfully perceptive, an undeniable threat to Ouma’s lies, but there was a time when Ouma actually wished that detective would reach out to him, back in that dreadful game when he felt like he can trust no one. It feels so distant now. Almost as if it happened to someone else and now he’s just recollecting a scene he witnessed years ago.

 

“My, my, Momota-chan,” sing-songs Ouma, grin getting wider, eyes getting colder. “I have to say that it’s truly flattering that you thought that you could pull the Supreme Leader look off! I’m afraid that you just don’t have the kind of body to make it work as well as I do!” Ouma strikes a pose, one hand on his hip and the other under his chin as he blows a kiss in Momota’s direction.

 

Momota scoffs at that, his brows knitted. He doesn’t say anything, even though it looks like he would like to. This cold reaction made Ouma feel slightly disappointed. Teasing Momota is one of the few joys he has left in his life and he doesn’t feel like letting that go. And so he does what he always does.

 

Act like the little shit he is.

 

He marches all the way from the door straight to Momota and then unceremoniously flops down on the astronaut's lap. That finally gets a reaction from the larger boy as his eyes widen in alarm and his arms seem to reflexively reach out to frantically push Ouma away --- only to change his mind at the very last second and let his arms droop uselessly along his sides.

 

It’s Ouma’s turn to frown.

 

 _What’s this guy’s problem_ , he thinks bitterly. _I have to step up my game…_

 

He immediately plasters on the widest grin he can manage on his face, eyelashes fluttering flirtatiously.

 

“See, Momota-chan,” Ouma starts conversationally. “If you were a _real_ Supreme Leader you would never let anyone get this close!”

 

He giggles joyfully when Momota’s eyes lock with his. Good, he’s got his attention.

 

“And why is that.” Momota says in a way that it somehow sounds more like a statement than a question.

 

At that Ouma smirks slightly. There’s a gleam in Ouma’s eyes that hasn’t been there before.

 

Suddenly Ouma leans close, so close that his breath ghosts slightly over Momota’s cheek and he has to press his hand on the broad expanse of the other boy’s chest. The action clearly surprises the other as Momota’s eyes widen noticeably and his breath hitches. Ouma chuckles darkly at the reaction, pleased to finally see Momota-chan acting in a more Momota-chan manner. Feeling brave he moves even closer, until his lips nearly touch the other boy’s ear.

 

“Because, Momota-chan...” Ouma licks his lips and smiles a sickly sweet smile, “this is how you get yourself killed~!”

 

At that Ouma pushes himself back and with the hand that was resting above Momota’s heart just a second before, he pokes Momota’s chest harshly, clearly intending to cause pain.

 

Momota jumps and yelps at the sudden action, more surprised than anything else. Ouma uses that moment to jump off of Momota’s lap, giggling that annoying “Nishishi” of his.

 

Mission accomplished.

 

“Why do you have to be so goddamn difficult,” murmurs Momota.

 

Kokichi giggles at that. “Dunno. Maybe I was just made to be difficult, Momota-chan!” Suddenly his face morphs into something more serious, almost empty and lacking any emotions. “You would have to ask Shirogane-chan to get an answer to that question.”

 

Kaito flinches visibly, his hand raising to touch the back of his neck in what Kokichi recognizes as a nervous gesture.

 

The thing about the participants of the fifty-third season is that they don’t talk about Shirogane Tsumugi. Of course the exception is during the therapy sessions and even then only if they feel like it or if the therapist is exceptionally persistent.

 

During the fifty-third season of Danganronpa some changes have been applied. Namely, the participants of all the previous games still got to know who they were before the game when the season was over. It was Shirogane Tsumugi’s idea to make them the characters _permanently._ That way Team Danganronpa could get a more authentic performance out of them, she argued. At first, she was willing to let them keep their original identities, but just after the killing game started something must have snapped and while within the game she contacted her assistant and made the poor guy cause a simulation error that forced the game to restart, while simultaneously overwriting their previous personalities with new ones. Then the only thing Shirogane had to do was to enforce that Team Danganronpa doesn’t interfere, but when they realized what happened it was already too late to stop the game. And so their personalities were erased and replaced completely, thus fulfilling Shirogane’s dream of real fiction. While she was reprimanded for acting independently and endangering the whole project the increasing rates of the show was enough to convince the creators of Danganronpa that it was a good decision. The poor assistant who helped her was fired, obviously, but other than that everything turned out to be a success. The organization made sure that only a few trusted people and the participants themselves knew about the whole thing. Even if any of them wanted to sue Team Danganronpa the company had one of the best lawyers in the world and they were still bound by the contract, even if they don’t remember ever signing it. Apart from occasional flashbacks (that may as well be memories of dreams) they have no idea what kind of life they led before the game. And they have Shirogane Tsumugi to thank for that.

 

Shirogane Tsumugi made them what they are now and they can _never_ take it back.

 

All of this is just Shirogane’s playground and the fact that she made her puppets swap costumes doesn’t change anything.

 

The make-up, the outfits, this whole goddamn act they have to perform to satisfy Team Danganronpa and the fans… All of it is just a dream of real fiction created by some Junko wanna-be. They’re little puppets dangling on the strings in her hands, dancing as she pleases.

 

As the Ultimate Supreme Leader, Ouma does not take it well when someone tries to dictate him how to act, but as it is his hands are tied. He’s the leader of no one.

 

In that aspect he and Momota are undeniably similar, both wildly independent and living by their own rules. Used to leading rather than following.

 

And so when they find each other at night, bodies entwined and lips pressed close - it makes perfect sense.

 

There’s no need to worry that the other will get hurt during the nights they spend together. They’re both more than used to hurting. Besides, hurting is just what they do. Both inside the game and out.

 

With Ouma, Momota doesn’t have to be subtle. He can be as furious and frustrated as he wants. He doesn’t have to worry about his feelings. He doesn’t have to treat him like he’s a delicate precious thing like he would with Saihara. He doesn’t have to be careful with his words like with Harumaki. With Ouma he can just forget and _feel feel_ ** _feel_** until all the pain dissolves into pleasure and for a blissful moment he can be someone other than Momota Kaito, Luminary of the Stars. In these fleeting moments he doesn’t have to be anything. He can push and shove and bite and watch with horrid fascination as ugly bruises form slowly on Ouma’s skin. He can scream until his throat hurts.

 

Turns out that he has a lot to scream about.

 

They usually find each other at night. In total darkness. None of them wastes too much time on talking, instead choosing to let their bodies take control, to lose themselves in the moment. They wreck one another beautifully. Ouma’s collarbones are constantly adorned with red and purple bruises that are striking on his pale skin. Momota’s back is littered with red and angry traces left by Ouma’s fingernails. The nights they spend together are anything but gentle. It’s always a clash of teeth, Ouma’s pale limbs wrapped around Momota’s shoulders and waist as he lowers him on the bed sucking and biting and growling into his ear. It’s rough. It’s painful. It’s fucking perfect.

 

They never talk about these nights. They just happen. That’s it.

 

There are many things between them that are never talked about, it’s nothing new really. They don’t talk about how beautifully they fit together during these nights spend together. They don’t talk about how it feels to stand face to face with death and then come back. They don’t talk about the nightmares when they wake up to the othe screaming and kicking and begging for death. They don't talk, because there's nothing to be said.

 

And so here they are in this small photographic studio, wearing each other’s clothes. And they don’t talk.

 

After Ouma’s remark about Shirogane, Momota stays silent, staring at the other boy for a long time. Then he reaches out his hand, warm fingers brushing the pale skin of Ouma’s cheek. Ouma flinches at first and his whole body tenses. Minute passes. Then two. He relaxes slightly, leaning into the touch, his eyes slowly closing.

 

They stand like that, one pair of eyes wide open, the other closed shut, until they are called to start the photoshoot.

 

Just before they start Ouma gently takes the checkered Supreme Leader scarf from Momota’s hand, stands on his tiptoes and ties it around Momota’s neck. He feels the soft material under his fingertips and experiences a weird sense of nostalgia. Momota smiles down at him in this gentle and sad way that contradicted the noisy idiot from the killing game. Momota bends down and takes the Ultimate Astronaut coat adorned with patterns of moons and constellations that was discarded earlier by Ouma on the floor and wraps it around the smaller boy’s shoulders. Ouma releases a shuddering breath when the material was put on him, but doesn’t say anything _(briefly Momota wonders if he remembers the cold feeling of the press and the breath of death on his lips and pain pain **pain** )_. After calming himself down, Ouma puts his arm in the left sleeve and leaves the right side of the coat draped over his shoulder, galaxy pattern for all to see.  

 

He raises his head and smiles at Momota, the childish and unsettling wide smile back on his face.

 

“Let’s give Shirogane-chan the best performance ever, shall we?”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Woah, it's finally here! 
> 
> I'm so upset that the Oumota Week is happening during the busiest week of my life, it's so unfair D:  
> But at the same time it makes me so happy to see all this new Oumota content! I promise that I'll write something for the other prompts once I finally get some free time. Oh, and I'm super curious what you guys think about this story, especially about its setting, so comments are very appreciated!
> 
> Also, I wanted to thank my wonderful beta, @asteril <3  
> Thank you so much, I would never publish it if it weren't for you!


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